CUNT: Conservative and Unionist National Treasure
(Sudden flash of anger alert)
Popping to the kitchen, wondering about dessert after disgusting dinner of burnt/undercooked breaded supermarket codsteaks.
Nothing, of course. Cheese on a cracker? yum. Have to do.
On the radio, broadcasting aimlessly through the house (where I am not), Question Time. An irritatingly smug and inconclusive BBC panel show in front of a ‘live’ audience of politically vaguely aware, tittering middle-class Radio 4 listeners. Selected, predictably boring ‘topical’ questions, put to a panel consisting of Dr Germaine Greer and some third-rate politicians, rightwing journos and empty suits.
Should we kill all the migrants at Calais before they steal our jobs and rape our women? Asks one, sort-of. Nope, says Germaine, reasonably; we need concerted international action. Flap, flap.
Yes, argues Matthew Hancock, average Tory cunt and current Paymaster General, age 14 3/4.
According to the invaluable Wikipedia (somewhat dated entry):
He has attracted controversy in his role as Minister of State for Energy for hiring a private jet to fly back from a climate conference and accepting money from climate change denial organization Global Warming Policy Foundation.
That’s pretty much all we need to know about Matt Hancock: he comes across as yet another vapid Westminster bubble-blower dependent on taxpayer handouts, who has risen without trace from the intern pool to occupy serial offices of state, like his predecessor, John Major. One who, bizarrely, lists both Oxford and Cambridge as his alma maters. Oh, also that he shares an identity with another famous nobody, ‘Matt Hancock’, from the creaking Aussie soap opera, Neighbours. As if we needed reminding. Clearly, he is marked for greatness.
‘What you need to understand’, he replies soapily, ‘is that thanks to the media, television and suchlike, these poor foreign people have suddenly seen for themselves how much better life is in the North and are swarming here like fruit-flies, determined to sponge off our benefits.’ Okay, that’s a paraphrase, but you get the idea. The idea is to relentlessly reinforce the Tory stereotype of the ‘economic migrant’ illegally hoping to suck our nation’s lifeblood in order to enrich himself at the expense of hardworking British families, out of his £5 a day asylum-claimant’s allowance.
Hancock is far too young and Oxbridge-educated to remember certain facts about Britain, namely that our wondrous current state of being as an Eldorado for economic migrants has been bought entirely at the expense of these fruit-flies clamouring at our gates. We fucked their countries over for four hundred years and made ourselves intolerably fat, rich and greedy – and them intolerably poor, thin and hungry – in the process. We replaced slavery as the motive power of Western industry with coal and oil and gas, much of it stolen from them, slowly rendering the air of high-minded hypocrisy unbreathable, and their countries uninhabitable.
Now we are pulling up the drawbridge; commandeering the best seats in the lifeboat; grabbing at the oxygen-masks and stomping on their fingers.
We are the spongers, Mr Hancock, in case you hadn’t realised. We are the scroungers. We are the economic migrants, the benefit cheats, the health tourists, the people traffickers and the gangmasters historically of the world. And, if they didn’t like how we treated them, we were the ISIS too, in our day. We’ve lopped our share of heads.
These people are our children. But now they are growing-up, we don’t want them in the house.
Please, Cameron, send the innocent Mr Wancock to Bangkok, so that he can imagine for a week or two his own two lovely children trafficked into prostitution for the pleasure of Western sex tourists. Or maybe Darfur, for a few years. He’d make a great ambassador, sweating in a UN tent. Libya – but which one? Or, maybe Damascus? A whiff of chlorine is so bracing. Seventeen years’ basic conscription in the Eritrean armed forces would do young Matthew no end of good. Some time on the frontline in Iraq, possibly – Kobani’s a great spot for sunbathing at this time of year. If like a good Tory he’s looking for an agreeable third home, property in Gaza’s going cheap – or maybe just a weekend hostage break in Raqqa?
Character-forming, dontcha know. Assuming he can swim…
Sick-making. Or was that the fish? We should be told.